


Salt Winds

by maximumsuckage



Category: The Scarlet Letter - All Media Types
Genre: Beaches, Campfire, Chillingsdale, Cold, M/M, Mutual Pining, Puritans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 23:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximumsuckage/pseuds/maximumsuckage
Summary: The sin of Pearl's conception hangs heavily on Arthur Dimmsdale's soul, and yet here he is, sitting on the beach with the very man whom he wronged.





	Salt Winds

**Author's Note:**

> my true otp okay I love my puritan dweebs... that's a lie I frikkin hated this book have some romance

 

The ocean was bright in the moonlight, tiny white caps swelling under the starry sky. The only light on the beach was that of a campfire, flickering a dull orange as it burned down to the embers. It cast more shadows than illumination, tossing shades of light and dark over the faces of the two men who sat beside it.

  
The smaller of the two was shivering slightly, though he was wrapped in a jacket. The chill air off the ocean cut through his slender body, making him cough each time he took too big of a salty breath. But he didn't get up to return indoors- the dust in the church house was guaranteed to set off his cough, and though the breeze was cold, the warmth from the fire and his companion's jacket was pleasant.

  
"I missed the ocean." Roger's voice broke the silence, though his tone was soft. "When I was with the Natives. Their tribe rarely ventured back to Massachusetts." He didn't look up as he spoke, instead digging his toes into the sand, stirring up the damp particles underneath. "I never thought I'd say that, after the trip over here. I was sick of that boat." He laughed slightly, then picked up a stick to poke the fire. With his bad shoulder, it was an awkward motion, but there was no apology in his expression for the weakness. Instead, his brow just furrowed slightly. "I think I understand why sailors keep returning to the sea, despite the threat of drowning or pirates."

  
"When God has a plan for us, it is often impossible to resist it," Arthur said softly. His gaze shifted from the crashing waves to the man sitting beside him, bathed in firelight and moonshine. The soft breeze played with his hair, lifting and tossing the locks around his face. Though Roger was no youth anymore, he aged like an expensive wine, in Arthur's opinion. His features were rugged from a life of strife and pain, and there was a certain beauty in that, like the beauty of the waves themselves.

  
Roger glanced over, and their eyes met, glimmering in the light of the embers. "I suppose it was God who brought me here to be your doctor?"

  
Arthur flushed at that, looking away, and hoped the dim firelight hid the pink of his normally pallid cheeks. "Perhaps," he murmured, looking back at the waves. "If God still watches over me." He ran a hand down his face. "If God has forgiven my sins."

  
Roger let out a loud laugh at that, the sound of his mirth overpowering the crash of the waves. "What sins could you have possibly committed, Reverend? You are the most holy man I have ever had the honor to meet."

  
Arthur hunched into the coat at that, plucking at the sand beneath him. Roger didn't know how wrong that statement was. Nobody knew how wrong that statement was. And the guilt of it, knowing his sin had directly destroyed Roger Chillingworth's life, sat on his chest, constricting his ribs, stealing his very breath away-

  
"Arthur?" The smile slowly fell from Roger's face. "Hey. You know that, don't you? God loves you." He hesitated. "I-"   
But whatever he was going to say was lost as Arthur drew in a harsh breath, setting off his cough again.

  
"Hey, breathe." Roger set a hand against Arthur's back as he choked, rubbing softly. "Just breathe."

  
The fit gradually subsided, just to leave Arthur shaking in the chilly breeze, eyes closed against the pressure on his chest. He didn't even know if it was from the cough or the guilt, that all encompassing guilt that permeated his life now. All he knew was that Roger's hand was firm and grounding on his back, holding him to reality, when all he wanted was to sit here until the tide swept him away.

  
"Are you well?" Roger's hand was moving in slow circles on Arthur's back. "Speak to me."

  
Arthur, eyes still closed, nodded. "I am fine," he murmured, letting the salty breeze caress his face. It was so much easier to breathe out here, in the cleansing ocean air. Cleansing to the body, if not the soul, at least. Not enough salt air in the world could cleanse the stain from his soul.

  
"Are you sure? We can return-"  
"I'm fine," Arthur insisted, and opened his eyes to find that Roger's face was barely an inch from his, his brow creased with concern. "I'm fine," he repeated, softer now, and the murmur was almost lost on the breeze that flowed from the sea, between them, towards the rest of the colony over the hill.

  
That same breeze that flowed between and around the two men, only to find itself drifting up the hill, splashing through the trees, to twist through the colony, lifting newspaper and hair and mane, only to find itself gently lifting the curtain of Hester Prynne as she opened the window panes to air the house and give little Pearl some fresh air...

  
At the thought of that girl, that little demon child sprung from his sins, Arthur jerked back from Roger as though he'd been burned. "I am fine," he repeated in a harsher tone, standing up and shedding the larger man's coat. "I must return and ensure that the church candles have all been blown out for the night."

  
Roger stood as well, folding the coat over his arm. "I shall accompany you."  
"No, no, I will return alone." Arthur backpedaled away from Roger as the man stamped out the remaining embers of the fire. His silhouette was broad in the fading red light, broad shoulders toned by his time with the Natives, though crooked on one side, an old wound that only proved the man's strength. "I must pray, I must ask the Lord for forgiveness-"

  
"Arthur." Roger turned sharply. His eyes were only a glint in the dark. "What are these sins you hate yourself for?"  
He opened his mouth. He needed to tell Roger, and yet... and yet the words refused to come. He choked on them, clutching his chest, and the coughing came again, doubling him over.  
And strong arms wrapped around him, soothing the ache for a moment, and Arthur wanted to cry, because he was taking comfort from the very man he had wronged.

  
"Whatever it was, you don't need to tell me," Roger murmured in his deep, comforting voice when the cough had finally subsided. "But I'm sure God will forgive you. If anyone deserves to be forgiven, it's you."

  
Arthur leaned heavily against the larger man, looking out at the dark ocean. "No," he whispered. "I don't deserve it."

  
And then he pulled away, marching back over the dunes towards the colony. Roger was left alone with the stamped out ashes of the fire, gazing after the receding figure of the priest.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know nobody's gonna read this if I put it up but I'm just slowly putting all my writing together sooo here. Fifty shades of scarlet, anybody? Some crooked shoulder puritan booty?


End file.
